Everything he wore was new
That night, when 'Phonse LeBrinn went home, his own folks didn't know him. In his arms he carried a bundle of Billy's old clothes; but everything he wore was new, from the red cap to the patent-leather shoes.
Aunt Florence didn't forget 'Phonse, and it was evident to the marine reporter's family that 'Phonse didn't forget her. He scarcely said thank you when she gave him his new suit, but every morning while Aunt Florence was in Mackinaw a bunch of wild flowers was found tied to the front door-knob. Once only a bit of pasteboard was attached, upon which was written in letters hard to read, "For billies ant."
At first the family wondered why 'Phonse kept away, but when they learned that Antoine LeBrinn had sold his little son's new clothes for drink, they understood.
"Poor little fellow," Aunt Florence said one morning, when a cluster of bluebells wasbrought her, wound so closely not a blossom could move its dainty head. "How I wish he would come again."
"He won't, though, 'cept when nobody knows," observed Billy, "and if any one says a word against his father, he'll fight."
"I'm curious to see his father, too," replied Aunt Florence. "Betty has told me so much about the family that I'd like to talk to that man; I'd say some things he'd remember."
"Antoine used to come often," said Betty. "We always tease him to tell stories. Everybody likes him; you'll see him sometime, auntie, and then you'll like him, too."
"I shall tell him what I think of him," declared Aunt Florence; but a week later, when Antoine came, she didn't say a word.
It was a rainy afternoon, and when Billy announced that the game must be circus as usual, and that the parade should be first on the programme, Betty objected.
"Billy Grannis," she exclaimed, "you're a nuisance. Gerald and I have played circus with you until we are sick and tired of it. You may be a lion-tamer if you want to, but you and your old lion will have to have a showof your own. I won't stand it any longer, and you can't have my cat for a polar bear, either."
"Why, Bet," was the remonstrance, "what makes you be so cross? I thought you liked to play circus. Do you want to be the lion-tamer this time, Bet? I'll let you take my big dog; do you want to, Betty?"
"No, Billy, I don't want to be anything that's in a circus, so there! I'll play Grace Darling, though; you and Gerald and Hero may be the shipwrecked sailors, and I'll be Grace Darling."
"I don't want to play shipwreck," declared Gerald. "I had enough of shipwrecks when theCaliforniawent down."
"Me, too," echoed Billy. "I'd rather play Noah and the flood. Oh, Betty, let's play that, and then my dog Hero can be the lion,—no, Betty no, I didn't mean it; he can be the elephant, I mean, and your cat can be a—a—what other animal is white 'sides a polar bear? And, oh, Gerald, your bluest pigeon can be the dove."
"But why don't you want to play Grace Darling?" interrupted Betty. "I'll let youtake my dolls for the shipwrecked children, and I'll live in the lighthouse."
"If you want to know what's fun," put in Gerald, "just listen to me. Let's play—"
"But I want to play get the animals out of the ark," insisted Billy.
"And I say," Betty argued, "that you don't know whether you like to play Grace Darling or not until you try it. Who's going to be captain of the shipwrecked boat, you, Billy, or Gerald? Now, this rug is the Northumberland coast."
"No, sir," shouted Billy, "it's Mt. Ararat."
"Why, children, what's going on?" asked Aunt Florence, who was passing the doorway.
"We all want to play different things," explained Betty.
"Why don't you make signal-flags, like the ones on the chart?" suggested Aunt Florence. "You know what I mean, Betty, the chart I saw you looking at yesterday in your father's office, the one with the pictures of signal-flags on it. I'll find sheets of red and blue and yellow and white paper, and I believe you can have a nice time making tiny paper flags. I'll get some paste ready for you, too."
"But what are the flags for?" asked Billy, "and why do they put letters beside of them on the chart?"
"It tells all about the signal-flags in papa's marine directory, and I'm going after it," announced Betty.
"She can tell you about the signals, Billy," said Aunt Florence, "and let's see who can make the most perfect little flags. Gerald will help you, Billy, won't you, Gerald?"
"Don't need any help," Billy hastened to say, "'less he wants to whittle out flag-sticks."
"That's so, auntie," agreed Gerald. "I'll go after something to use for flagstaffs."
"And I'm going after some shears and things, and then," said Billy, "I'm going to cut out the 'B' flag. It's all red, auntie, and cut the way Betty's hair-ribbons are on the ends. I guess I will make the 'Q' flag, 'cause it's just a square made out of yellow; and the 'S' is easy, too, just white with a blue square in the centre. Oh, auntie's gone. Don't you feel queer, Hero, when you talk to somebody that isn't there?"
Gerald and Betty returned quickly with coloured paper and a book.
"Now, Billy," remarked the little girl, in her most severe tone, "put down the shears and listen a minute. I'm going to read out of the Marine Directory."
"Don't read it; tell it," besought Billy.
"She wants to read it just because she can read big words without stopping to spell them," declared Gerald, after a glance at the open book.
Betty could read much better than Gerald ever expected to.
"It isn't that," was the reply, "but, if you will listen, you will know that the book tells it all better than I can. Now listen: 'The necessity for a uniform and comprehensive system of signalling at sea'—Billy Grannis, stop making faces. I've got to begin it all over again. 'The necessity for a uniform and comprehensive system of signalling at sea and to shore stations on the coast of the United States and other countries has long been felt and discussed by those interested in maritime pursuits, and by the leading maritime powers of the world.' Now, Gerald, stop acting like a goose. You and Billy both know what 'maritime' means just as well as I do. Nowlisten, and I'll go on. 'In view of this necessity, the adoption of a common code of signals to be observed by all nations, discarding all other codes and systems, appears to be in a high degree desirable and important. The international code of signals has been recommended and adopted by nearly all the principal nations of the world, and it is now the only code recognized or of practical use. It is the only one which, from its completeness, is likely to fully meet the existing need.'
"Billy, what ails you? Do stop laughing. What's the matter with you, Gerald,—tooth-ache?"
"No, Betty, worse'n that. When I think how your jaws must feel, I—"
"Now, Gerald, I don't believe you know a word I've read."
"Well, Betty, I should say not. Who could?"
"What I want to know is, what are all these flags for?" demanded Billy. "So please shut that old book and tell us."
"You horrid boys," exclaimed Betty, "I don't see how you ever expect to 'mount to anything."
"Wouldn't if we were girls," was Gerald's retort, which Betty didn't seem to hear. She often had deaf spells.
"Now, Billy dear," she went on, "you see there are eighteen of the signal-flags. They are marked B, C, D, F, G, H, J, K, L, M, N, P, Q, R, S, T, V, and W. Besides these are two little pointed flags that mean 'Yes' and 'No.' The 'Yes' flag is white with a round red spot, and the flag that means 'No' is blue with a round white spot on it."
"Oh, now I know," exclaimed Billy. "If your boat wants to tell another boat 'No,' then it puts up the pointed blue flag."
"Yes, Billy, that's it."
"How do they use the other flags?" inquired Gerald. "You can't spell things withouta'sando's."
"Don't you see, Gerald, each flag means something. Look on the back of the chart and you will see how they use the flags. The first signal is 'H—B.' When those two flags are displayed,—'display' is the right word to use, mister, so don't make eyes. When the 'H' flag and the 'B' flag are displayed together, with the 'H' above the 'B,' that's asignal that means 'Want immediate assistance.'
"Oh, boys, now I'll tell you what let's play. Every ship, you know, should carry a set of these signal-flags, so let's play we're all boats. I'll be a yacht, I guess, because yachts are beautiful."
"I'm a steam-tug—choo—choo—choo!—and my name's the tugBilly. Choo—choo choo—"
"Good, Bill!" exclaimed Gerald. "You're built just right for a tug. I guess I'll be the schoonerGeraldof the White Star Line. Lumber's my cargo."
"Dear me, I can't be just a yacht, sailing around for the fun of it," remarked Betty. "I must be part of the merchant marine myself."
"Part of the dictionary, you mean," grumbled Gerald.
Betty was deaf for a moment. "I guess I would rather not be what you boys are, after all, so I'll be a passenger boat, theCity of Elizabeth. I'm an ocean liner."
"Oh, that's just like a girl," and Geraldlaughed. "An ocean liner on the Great Lakes. Oh, oh!"
"Did you ever get left, smarty Gerald? I tell you, I'm an ocean liner. These signals aren't used on the Great Lakes, only on the ocean. Besides that, if I'm a boat, I want the ocean to sail on. I couldn't think of puddling around in a little bit of water. I'm the finest steamship afloat, and I make regular trips between—oh, I guess London and New York. That will give you some work to do, Billy, because I'll need a steam-tug to pilot me into the harbour every time. You'll make a dear little pilot-boat, you are so chubby."
"Choo—choo—choo! toot—toot—toot!" responded the steam-tugBilly.
"What's the use of making a full set of flags?" remonstrated Gerald. "If we're going to play boat, let's play boat, and pretend we have them all. I've made the 'N—M' flags, that mean 'I'm on fire.'"
"That's what I say," agreed Billy. "I found out that 'P—N' means 'Want a steam-tug,' so I've made two sets of 'P—N' flags, one for you and one for Betty to use. For my own self, the 'Yes' and 'No' flags areall I want. You two better pin your 'Want a steam-tug' flags on; they won't stay stuck. Choo—choo—choo! toot—toot! Here I come puffing around—toot—toot—toot—see my black smoke! Oh, Bet, let's play there came up an awful fog, so we'll have to toot our horns all the time."
"And keep our bells sounding all the while we are at anchor," added Gerald.
When the three boats began making trips, there were collisions and noise. Hero tried in vain to keep out of the way.
"He's a reef; there ought to be a lighthouse on him," suggested Betty.
"Look out for the St. Bernard Shoals," assented Gerald. "Hold on, there's a tug ashore,—a wreck on the St. Bernard Shoals."
"Toot—toot—toot! puff—puff! choo—choo—choo!" This from the steam-tugBilly.
"Tug is off the shoals, no lives lost," commented Gerald. "Oh, fire! fire! fire! My deck is all in flames. Up goes my signal 'I'm on fire,' and now where's my 'Want a steam-tug' signal. Oh, right here. I shall besaved if the tugBillydoesn't burst his boilers before he gets here!"
It so happened that the tug fell sprawling over the St. Bernard Shoals, and but for the timely assistance of the steamshipCity of Elizabeth, the schoonerGeraldof the White Star Line must have been lost with all on board. To be sure, Gerald emptied his pockets upon the floor, insisting that everything that fell, from his jack-knife to marbles, were frantic sailors, who either perished in the sea or were devoured by sharks.
In the meantime, the St. Bernard Shoals made trouble for the steam-tugBilly. "Can't even blow my whistle," puffed Billy. "Hero, let me get up. Don't keep tumbling me over and over. Don't you know I'm a boat? Go 'way, Hero. Open the door, Gerald, so he'll go out. Call him, Betty."
Outside the window, Hero tried his best to persuade the children to come out and play in the rain.
"Oh, dear, let's rest a minute," suggested Betty.
"And say over the verses we learned that day of the worst blizzard last winter," addedBilly. "You know what I mean, Betty, the rules for steamers passing, and then, Betty, we'll play it is a dark night when we go on some more trips."
"Oh, I'll tell you," put in Gerald, "we'll cut lanterns out of paper, red and green and white ones, and pin them on."
"Begin the verses first, Betty; let's say them all together," suggested Billy, "and say them loud so Hero can hear."
"Let me see," Betty hesitated, "the first one is this:
"'Meeting steamers do not dreadWhen you see three lights ahead.Port your helm and show your red.'"
"'Meeting steamers do not dreadWhen you see three lights ahead.Port your helm and show your red.'"
"Here's a red lantern for you, Bill," interrupted Gerald, "and this is yours, Betty. Go on, why don't you? The next verse is about two steamers passing."
"Oh, I remember; say it with me, boys:
"'For steamers passing you should tryTo keep this maxim in your eye.Green to green or red to red,Perfect safety—go ahead.'
"'For steamers passing you should tryTo keep this maxim in your eye.Green to green or red to red,Perfect safety—go ahead.'
"Then, boys, the third verse is about steamships crossing:
"'If to starboard red appear,'Tis your duty to keep clear;Act as judgment says is proper,Port or starboard—back—or stop her."'But when on your port is seenA steamer with a light of green,There's not much for you to do,The green light must keep clear of you.'"
"'If to starboard red appear,'Tis your duty to keep clear;Act as judgment says is proper,Port or starboard—back—or stop her.
"'But when on your port is seenA steamer with a light of green,There's not much for you to do,The green light must keep clear of you.'"
By this time three voices were singing merrily:
"'Both in safety and in doubt,Always keep a good lookout.Should there not be room to turn,Stop your ship and go astern.'"
"'Both in safety and in doubt,Always keep a good lookout.Should there not be room to turn,Stop your ship and go astern.'"
Billy gave a shout. "Oh, look, Betty! look, Gerald! There's Antoine at the gate, and he's afraid of Hero. He doesn't dare pass him."
"He's calling you, Billy; go get your dog." Gerald laughed as he spoke.
"'Both in safety and in doubt, always keep a good lookout,'" mocked Billy. "He's scared to death. Look at him back up whenHero walks toward him. 'Should there not be room to turn, stop your ship and go astern.' If Antoine was a boat, he could play Hero was an iceberg. Hey, Bet?"
At last Antoine saw the children.
"If we don't stop laughing," warned Betty, "he'll go away. He may think we're making fun of him."
"Oh, how I wish Hero would give one of his loud barks," added Gerald. "Oh, I believe he will, sure as anything. He doesn't know what to think of Antoine. I guess he never saw any one act so queer. Now just see him stand there in front of the gate and make crazy motions."
Suddenly Hero gave three loud barks that startled the little Frenchman almost out of his senses.
"Look at him jump," continued Gerald. "He went up in the air like a rubber ball."
"It's too bad," protested Betty. "I'm going to the door to tell Antoine that Hero won't hurt him. Billy, you go and get your dog."
"Oh, I say, Bill," suggested Gerald, "instead of getting Hero, why don't you tow Antoine into port?"
"Oh, goody! Choo—choo—choo!—where's my tow-line?"
"Here, you rascal!" exclaimed Betty, "how dare you take my hair-ribbons. Why, Billy, you'll spoil them tying them together in a hard knot like that."
"One's too short—choo—ch—choo!—toot—toot—toot—French boat in distress, don't you see? Gerald, you go and pin your 'Want a steam-tug' flag on him."
Away flew Gerald, while Betty and Billy stood laughing in the window. Antoine not only allowed Gerald to pin the flag upon him, but instantly began making an active display of his signals, calling aloud for the steam-tugBilly.
"Toot—toot—toot!—choo—choo—choo!" was the immediate response, and the steam-tug went puffing to the rescue regardless of the falling rain.
"Make fast the hawser," commanded Billy, passing Antoine the tow-line. "It's kind of short," he added, under his breath.
Antoine obeyed.
"Choo—choo—choo!—ding—ding—ding—make fast. Ding—ding—ding—let go." Slowly did the steam-tug venture into deep water; too slowly to suit Antoine, whose fear of the dog was genuine. Gerald had explained that Hero never harmed any one Billy befriended, merely hinting at dark possibilities that might befall the unwary. He also laughingly told Antoine that Hero was not a dog, but a dangerous reef. In a short time the little Frenchman had reason to believe that the reef was volcanic in its nature.
"Choo—choo—choo"—on came the steam-tug, the French boat close behind. "Choo—choo—choo—choo"—slower and slower the two approached the reef, the steam-tug venturing nearer and nearer, to the dismay of the boat in tow.
Four sharp whistles sounded from the tug. It was the danger-signal! The steam-tugBillywas on the reef, and but for the parting of the hawser the French boat must have followed.
"Don't you try to run, Antoine," called Gerald; "you can't tell what Hero might do. You better stand right still till Billy gets on his feet again." Then he and Betty laughed. Terror was pictured on Antoine's face as thedog barked and pranced around, thoroughly enjoying the game.
Billy struggled to his feet. "Toot—toot—make fast," he commanded, and Betty's hair-ribbons were once more tied together, how loosely only Billy knew.
"Toot—go ahead," he sung out, but again the hawser parted, and Antoine, watching Hero, dared not stir. "Toot—toot—toot," there was the sound of laughter in the whistle, and the captain's voice was scarcely steady as he called out, "Slow up," then "Toot—stop—toot—toot—back up—make fast—toot—go ahead."
Safely into port came the French boat, in the midst of cheering from the decks of theCity of Elizabethand the schoonerGeraldof the White Star Line.
"Tell you a bear story, Beely? No, I'm too scare to tell you a bear story," Aunt Florence heard Antoine remark. "I tole you dog story, hey? How you scare you old friend Antoine with you big dog. That was a bad trick, Beely. You do wrong to scare ole Antoine."
So earnestly did the Frenchman say this, as he held Billy on his knee, the small boy felt uncomfortable, though Aunt Florence laughed, and wondered how and when to begin her lecture.
"But, Antoine," Billy explained, "that was a game."
"A game, Beely, you call that game, do you, when you scare ole Antoine out his wit? Game, hey?"
He held Billy on his knee
"I knew Hero wouldn't hurt you, Antoine; he's a nice, kind dog, and he wouldn't bite a mosquito."
Antoine shook his head and made a downward motion with his hands.
"That's all right for you, Beely, but how did Antoine know the dog she wouldn't bite one moskeet? When I see his mouth, I say to myself, Antoine, he swallow you sure, and then I call my friend Beely."
"But I was a steamboat then," protested Billy, "and, anyway, I came after you, didn't I?"
"Yes, Beely, I find you out in the wood some day, big black bear after you. Beely call ole Antoine, and ole Antoine he play steamboat, hey, Beely? How you like that?"
"Tell us a bear story, please do," persisted the child.
"No, Beely, maybe I tole you bear story, maybe so, but that big dog he scare me. Now, I'm scare out of bear story."
"Poor old Hero, he wants to come in," said Billy. "Shall I let him come in and get acquainted with you, Antoine?"
"No, Beely, I'm too much acquaint with him now. You call your dog, I go."
"But he likes you, Antoine; I could tell by the way he sniffs at you that he likes you."
"Yes, maybe he likes me too much, I'm think. I'll bring my gun next time," warned Antoine; "then let him sniff at me, hey, Beely?"
"You wouldn't shoot him."
"I wouldn't stand still and let him eat me, I tell you that, Beely. When you see Antoine coming, you better call your dog and hide him."
"Give it to him, Antoine," said Gerald, with a brotherly grin.
Billy said nothing, but, with his back turned toward Aunt Florence, he made a face at Gerald.
"Well, Beely," protested the Frenchman, "that's a pretty crooked face you make there. Let me look on that face. She's round like the pumpkin, and your eye she's like two little blue bead. Well, I can't see nothing wrong with it now. A minute ago I'm 'fraid. You must not make such face like that on your brother, because, Beely, I'm afraid she freeze like that."
"But where have you been all this time?" questioned Betty, while Gerald motioned AuntFlorence to watch the grimaces and motions Antoine made as he talked.
"Oh, I'm work back here on the cedar swamp, getting out some pole to load big vesseal when he come. Where's your papa? I want to see if he's hear anything of theGeorge Sturgis. I'm think he's come last week, and I'm look for it ever since. He was going to come last week to Cecil Bay to get my pole to take to Chicago. I'm 'fraid we's going to get bad weather, and I want to get out my load of pole quick as I could."
"You'll have to wait, Antoine," declared Gerald, "because papa went to the station with some messages, and he's going to wait for the mail, and the train's late."
"Don't you want to see our baby?" asked Betty. "Oh, he is the dearest little fellow, just three months old. Mamma says he looks exactly as Billy did when he was a baby."
"Beely ain't baby no more," commented the Frenchman. "I s'pose he ain't like the new baby pretty good?"
"Oh, yes," Betty assured Antoine, "Billy loves the baby."
"And I'm seven, going on eight," the smallboy declared. "It seems a hundred years since you were here last," he continued; "have you been working in the cedar swamp all that time?"
"Well," was the reply, "I'm think if you be there when the black fly and the moskeet eat you up, you would say it was one hundred year sure. You say your papa she go to the post-office, hey?"
"Yes, and the train is late. If I was an engine, I'd get here on time, and not keep folks waiting for their mail."
Antoine LeBrinn made a remarkably bad grimace, looked at Billy for several seconds, and then replied: "Little boy ain't got no patience these day. Now, when I'm a little boy and live on Cadotte's Point, we only got our mail two time in one week."
"But that was before the railroads came," said Betty, "and I don't see how you got any mail at all. Did it come in canoes?"
Antoine shrugged his shoulders. "No, Betty, the dog she bring our mail in those day."
"Dogs!" exclaimed Billy. He was sure there was a story coming.
"What do you mean?" inquired Gerald, seating himself in Billy's rocker, while Betty drew her footstool close beside him. "Antoine, what do you mean?"
"Just what I'm say. Dog, she bring our mail in the old day. Did you never hear of a traineau?"
"Yes," admitted Betty. "I have read of traineaus, but I never expected to see any one who ever saw one. Do tell me all about them."
"Well," began the Frenchman, making all sorts of motions with his head and his hands as he went on, "well, when I'm little boy and this was call Old Mackinaw Point, there was no train and no steamboat, and in the winter-time all our mail was brought by these dog I am tell you about. These dog she was train with the harness and haul a long sleigh call a traineau. I know a little chap," and Billy had to give a hard kick at somebody who pinched his toes, "I know one little chap that hitch up one dog to her sled and take a ride on all kinds of weather. Well, well, what's the matter with Beely? She jump around like something bite him."
"Go on, Antoine, go on, tell us about thedogs," teased Billy. "Gerald's always acting horrid."
"Well," resumed the Frenchman, "a traineau was pulled by six dog; all had harness on, and hitch one in front the other on one long string. The traineau she's all pile full of mailbag, and one man go along to drive the dog. This driver she go three, four hundred mile on one trip, and she would carry enough along to eat to last him and his dog four or five day."
At this point Billy became much excited, and broke in with a remark that amused Gerald so highly he stood on his head and waved his feet in the air until Betty reminded him of his manners.
"Why, why, Antoine," Billy demanded, "how could the driver carry stones enough to last even one hundred miles, I'd like to know?"
The Frenchman was puzzled. "Stone," he remarked, running his fingers through his short, black hair, "now what, Beely, would the driver do with stone?"
Betty clapped her hands. "When Billy goes driving on the ice with Major," she explained, "he has to carry a pocket full of stones, or Major wouldn't go a step. He throws a stone and Major goes after it; then he throws another, and that's the way he keeps the dog flying."
"Well, that's pretty good," said the smiling Antoine, "but you see, Beely, these dog she was train to pull the sleigh when she was a little bit of a pup. He was train so he was used to it. When the driver said 'Go,' she went; and at first, no matter how much mail they have, the dog she would jump and run as if they like it. After they draw a bit load two or three day, she's begin get tired, and then they would lay right down on the road, so the driver would stop and let the dog rest.
"Here, on Mackinaw Point, the driver she stop at the little store and left the mail for all the folks; for the fishermen along the shore and on Cadotte's Point where I'm live."
"But where did the traineaus start and where did they go?" inquired Betty.
"They come from Alpena and go way up to the Soo, and then go back again."
"Why didn't they use big sleighs and horses?" Gerald put in.
"No road," was the reply, "only narrow trail through the wood."
"And was all the mail from the big world brought to Mackinaw that way when you were a little boy?" persisted Betty; "and did you ever get a letter?"
"No, I can't say I ever got one letter myself. Little children ain't much account those day, but my aunt what live on Canada send me one pair mitten for a New Year present. I'm just about big like Beely then, but I'm walk in all alone from Cadotte's Point."
"And you must have seen a bear," observed Billy.
"Oh, now, you Beely, you think I'm going to tell you a bear story. Well I ain't feel just right for tole you a bear story this time. I'm tell that some other time. I'm tell you a bear story every time I'm see you, Beely, and I'm getting them pretty near all wear out."
At this the children laughed so uproariously, the baby awoke and began to cry.
"Mamma'll bring him out in a minute," remarked Betty, and when the baby, still screaming, was brought into the room, Antoine insisted upon taking him, to the delight of the children, who stood by, softly clapping their hands and laughing. Their mother laughed, too, when Antoine, who knew something about babies from long experience, began walking the floor with the little fellow and talking to him.
"Well, is this the new baby? Bring it here and let me look at it. Well, a pretty nice looking baby, I'm think, if she ain't cry so much. Her face is all crooked and all wrinkle up. Come now, you ain't going to cry all the time. I'm going to look and see them little eye you got there. Well, she make quite a bit of noise for her size, but I'm going to sing him a little song and see if she won't go to sleep again:
"'The Frenchman he hate to die in the fall,When the marsh is full of game:For the muskrat he is good and fat,And the bullfrog just the same."'High le,High low,Now baby don't you cry,For ole Antoine is right close by.'"
"'The Frenchman he hate to die in the fall,When the marsh is full of game:For the muskrat he is good and fat,And the bullfrog just the same.
"'High le,High low,Now baby don't you cry,For ole Antoine is right close by.'"
"Now you see, Beely, she's quit crying already. You ain't know Antoine can sing, eh?"
It was even as Antoine said; the baby had stopped crying, and Billy, astonished by the music of the Frenchman's voice, begged for another song, insisting that anything would please him.
"Oh, no, Beely," objected his friend. "I ain't going to sing no more to the baby, she's quiet now. I'm goin to tole you a story."
"Is it a bear story?"
"No, it's a cow story. My cow she's run away once, and I'm find it on Wheeler's farm." Thus began Antoine, accompanying his words with gestures far more laughable than the tale he told, and causing the children great amusement. Billy's round face became one broad grin as he listened.
"When I'm take my cow home," went on the little Frenchman, still walking the floor with the baby in his arms, "I'm take short cut on the wood; I'm go by old log road. There was a lot of raspberry there, so now I'm to pick up some raspberry for myself. So I'm tie my cow on black stick of wood, andlet it eat grass on the road and drag the wood along, and she can't get away from me."
At this point Betty's mother rescued the baby from the arms of the prancing Frenchman, to the evident relief of Betty, who thought the baby too precious a bundle to be flourished so vigorously, as Antoine stooped to pick raspberries and to tie his cow.
"Pretty soon," continued the narrator, "pretty soon she give a jerk with his head, and the piece of wood jump toward it and scare my cow. Well, she start to run down the road, and I'm run after it and holler, 'Whoa, Bess, whoa!' but she's so scare she ain't stop.
"By and by my cow stop, all play out." Antoine placed himself before Betty, who was sitting on a footstool near Aunt Florence, while Gerald and Billy were standing near their mother's chair, the refuge they sought when Antoine was running after his cow. "Well, as I'm say, my cow stop all play out. She stand right there on front that stick of wood." Antoine certainly mistook Betty for the stick of wood. "She's stand there and look straight at it, and she's go, 'Woof! woof! woof!' and his tail she's go round and round,"and Antoine's arms made wide circles in the air, "but she's all right; she ain't hurt at all, so I'm catch my cow and take it home, and I'm pretty glad she ain't hurt at all. Now I ain't tie my cow to no more black stick of wood. I told you that right now."
In the midst of the laugh that followed, and while Billy was pulling at the Frenchman's sleeve, beseeching him to tell another story, the marine reporter came home. Immediately Antoine told his errand, and made his escape from the presence of the clamouring children, laughing, shrugging his shoulders, and declaring that he would sometime tell them all the stories they would listen to. Thus Aunt Florence lost an opportunity to deliver her first temperance lecture.
Scarcely had the door closed behind Antoine when it was opened by Billy, who followed his friend into the yard.
"Here, Antoine," he called, "take this orange to 'Phonse. Mamma gave me one, and Betty one, and Gerald one."
"It's a good little Beely," was the remark that filled the small boy's heart with pride, as Antoine slipped the treasure in his pocket.
After supper Billy thought longingly of his orange. He wondered if it was thick-skinned and if it was juicy. He felt pretty sure it was sweet, and the more he thought of it the sweeter it seemed to his imagination. Billy was just saying to himself that, if he had not given away his orange, he would eat it without asking his mother for sugar, when he stumbled upon Gerald leaning over the wood-box in the kitchen.
"What are you doing out here all alone?" demanded Billy.
"What business is it of yours, I'd like to know? Why don't you go back in the other room?" Gerald grumbled, making rather lively motions around three sides of the wood-box, as he tried to keep his back toward Billy.
"Aw, pig!" sniffed Billy, "eating your orange out here where nobody'd see you, so you wouldn't have to divide. Orange juice running all down your arm, and I'm glad of it, pig!"
"Got an orange of your own," was Gerald's retort.
"Haven't either," declared Billy.
"Then you've eaten it up, and now who's a pig, I'd like to know? I offered to divide my orange with Selma, but she was in a hustle to get her dishes washed and get down-town, and it isn't my fault if she couldn't wait for me to get it peeled. You're the pig, Billy, because you didn't even offer to divide with anybody."
"No, I gave my whole orange to Antoine before I even stopped to smell of it," wailed Billy, "and I guess if I had a little brother that hadn't had a smell of orange, I'd give him a piece."
Gerald whistled. "Who ever'd think you'd do such a thing, Billy? Here, little boy, is your reward of merit," and Gerald, thrusting half his orange into Billy's outstretched hand, walked away, whistling.
Half an orange made Billy wish for more. It was a sweet one and juicy. He wondered if Betty's orange was anywhere near as good. Later in the evening Gerald went out on the beach with his father to see if there were any boats in sight to be reported. While he was gone, Betty prepared to eat her orange.
"Come on, Billy," she suggested, "get your rocker, and we'll eat our oranges while mamma undresses the baby. I'm glad it is a chilly night, so we had to have a fire in the grate."
A wistful expression crept into Billy's face. "I gave my orange to Antoine to take to 'Phonse," was his reply in sorrowful tones.
"Why, you dear, good Billy, you shall have half of mine. Bring your rocker here beside of me, and we'll eat my orange together. See my saucer of sugar. I'll divide that with you, too."
Billy, more than willing, was thoroughly enjoying himself when Gerald returned. The minute the door was opened, the boy stuffed the last piece of his half of Betty's orange into his mouth so quickly Betty couldn't imagine what ailed him.
Gerald's remark upon beholding this performance was an explosion. "Pig!" he shouted. Explanations followed, and Billy was sent into the kitchen to do some quiet thinking. The cat followed him, whether from curiosity or because she liked Billy, it is impossible to say.
When Billy climbed into a hard, uncomfortable chair, so high his feet couldn't touch the floor, the cat jumped upon another chair and settled down to watch him. At first Billy looked ashamed of himself and miserable. For a minute he seemed to think of pulling his loose tooth; but, after touching it ever so gently, he shook his head. Then, observing a strange expression on the cat's face, Billy half-smiled; that is, the smile stopped just below his eyes, whose solemn stare remained unchanged.
That was enough for the cat. With a remark that sounded exactly like what she used to say to her kittens when she brought them a mouse, she bounded into Billy's chair, and began rubbing against him, purring cheerfully. By the time she had flourished her tail in his face, licked his hands, and clawed at his redsweater for a few seconds, Billy laughed merrily.
Perhaps if the cat had minded her own business, Billy would not have forgotten his disgrace so quickly. However that may be, the small boy slipped down from his chair and had a good time. He played tiger in the jungle with the cat until she objected; then he played he was the northwest wind, sending everything helter-skelter before his icy breath.
Suddenly Billy bethought him of a new game, and a few minutes later the whole family rushed into the kitchen half-fearing that the stove must have fallen upon the child, so unusual was the racket they heard. There was no cause for alarm. At the moment Billy was Antoine's cow. A big tin pail attached to his waist by Betty's jumping-rope was the black stick of wood.
When the family appeared at the door, the cow was standing in front of the black stick of wood, stamping its feet and snorting, "Woof! woof! woof!" The cat was nowhere in sight.
The north wind is no respecter of persons. He wasn't invited to Betty's lawn party, but he came at dawn and stayed until dark the day she chose to entertain her dearest friends. Billy was glad of it. He said that girls' parties were silly, anyway, and he hoped the whole flock would have to stay in the house. He declared that Betty needn't expect to see him at the party: he would rather hide in the cellar all day than be the only boy among so many girls. Aunt Florence smiled, and said she guessed they could get along without him if he felt that way.
"Sometime before I go home, though," she promised Billy, "we'll have a boys' party, and then we won't care how hard the wind blows.But the girls, dear me, Billy, they'll be so disappointed if they have to stay in the house."
"Who cares?" suggested Billy.
"Why, I care," suggested Aunt Florence. "Young man, I am helping Betty with this party, and the wind is more than I know what to do with."
"Oh, if it's your party, Aunt Florence, that's different, and I know what to do. Build a tramps' shelter and keep the wind out."
"What's a tramps' shelter, Billy?"
"Why, Aunt Florence, out in the woods the tramps make regular little rooms of trees and branches. We can coax papa and his man to get a wagon-load of Christmas-trees from the woods and make a room, not where we'd spoil the lawn, but the other side of the house, you know, down close to the lake."
"Who would report boats, Billy, if your father and the man both go to the woods?"
"Mamma would," was the reply; "she does lots of times. I'll get some boys to help make the room if you want to do it. I wish Gerald was here, but every time Mr. Robinsoninvites him to go on the fishing-tug, he goes. I wish I was him."
When Betty heard of Billy's plan, she said she didn't know he could think of anything so nice, and before noon the room was made.
"It's a fort!" declared Billy.
"Why, so it is," added Betty. "And to-morrow, Billy, let's play fort, and I'll ask Lucille and that little girl that plays with her, that little Marion Struble from Marquette, and Cora and Gay to come and bring their dolls and play ladies from the settlement seeking safety in the fort during an Indian war. You may be an Indian chief, you know, and I don't care how many boys you have for braves. Oh, it will be loads of fun."
"Let's do it to-day," suggested Jimmie Brown, the Detroit boy.
"And scare the girls to death," added one of the green cottage twins.
"Oh, mercy, boys, that wouldn't do at all! You see, this is to be a real stylish party to-day, and besides that, I don't s'pose half the girls that are coming ever played Indian. Why, one time, auntie, Gerald and Billy and I had an Indian show, and we hadn't any morethan begun when the girls were scared and ran home crying.
"I wish you boys would please go now and pick about ten bushels of wild flowers, so we can make the inside of this evergreen fort perfectly beautiful. See, Aunt Florence, papa made the north wall extra thick and high, so the wind can't get in. Isn't this the sweetest place for a party you ever heard of? Of course, we'll be crowded, and of course we can't stay in it all the time, but that won't hurt anything. Mamma says we may bring out all the cushions and put them on the board seats. We'll have the music-box here in the corner."
Soon the boys returned with arms full of wild flowers. "Powder and shot for the fort," announced Billy, and the mischief shining in his eyes alarmed his sister.
"Now, Billy Grannis," she warned, "don't you dare try any tricks."
"Of course not," replied Billy, though Jimmie and the green cottage twins tossed their caps into the air and grinned.
"They're planning something, auntie," Betty declared, but when the guests began to arrive she forgot her suspicions.